Tuesday, August 25, 2015

I wonder what it must be like to not play the piano. I wonder what it must be like to see a piano and just see a beautiful piece of furniture. Or looking at the keys – what do you see? I see a C, and then an E flat above it, and a G above that and then a B flat and then a D flat, I hear a beautiful, odd sound, Manhattany sound. I imagine most people don’t hear the sound I hear when they see those notes in between other notes. it’s one of my favorite sounds and I wish I could describe it in this letter. I am singing that sound now although I cannot sing.

Wednesday, August 05, 2015

GUMDROPS

Before I could try one, they disappeared. You can look everywhere now and you won’t find them. But I will never know because of my condition. My condition includes my inability to see something, like a gumdrop, and say “Why not?” and then do something about it.

When I dream of gumdrops, and I do, they are always shimmering in the desert. Sometimes I hold out my hand.

Tuesday, August 04, 2015

The nest of a hummingbird is small and round and the color between green and brown. The baby hummingbirds can be fed with a tiny eyedropper, the kind you might use with the baby of a doll – they seem to chew the water as they drink. These baby birds make a ferocious fuss in their nest, and their nest looks like a small sushi roll that is trembling like a grandmother’s hand.

This is what I can see from where I stand, about ten feet or so from the television that is up against the window that looks upon a tree in the summer. I am uncertain of what is in the tree. My grandmother stands in front of it, trembling.

After the show, we talked about the city we live in and how we don’t like it. We used to like it. But when we liked it, we never felt it was necessary to say that. We don’t even know who we would say it to. Somehow it seems right to say it now, that we no longer like it. We say it to the city that we used to like, although we never mentioned how we liked it when we did.

We are drinking cinnamon whiskey and listening to music, in a different city tonight. It’s easier to talk this way. Soon we talk about moving back to the city we liked. No one says ‘That’s something that we cannot do.’ And no one seems bothered that we don’t. We like it here, in a city where we never think there is something we cannot do. This is unusual. So perhaps we will stay here instead.

In a hundred years, what will we think of this terrible decision we made?